Absolution
by cupid-painted-blind
Summary: Listen to me, Kreacher, He whispers hoarsely, kneeling down, door open to howling wind behind him, I want you to do exactly as I say... [Maybe he's just a kid with a problem he can't hide. Regulus. DH Spoilers.


**a-b-s-o-l-u-t-i-o-n**

This is the last time Regulus will ever see his brother, and he can't explain how he knows it. It isn't as climactic as the day Sirius ran away from home, nor as sentimental as the day either of them graduated, which would have been perfect days to make amends, all of them, had anyone considered doing so. He's standing outside Flourish and Blotts, watching Sirius in a small huddle with two of his friends across the street, whispering. They're probably talking about something important, some new way to thwart the Death Eaters, because even Sirius doesn't huddle up to chat about the weather.

And Sirius's whole life is revolving around stopping the Death Eaters, at least for now. He's done his research, kept a few tabs on his wayward brother, as a way to keep up with what their resistance is doing, because surely Sirius will be a member, and surely Sirius will know things and be sent on missions. All Regulus has to do is follow his brother around and report back what he's doing. And if he's caught, he has the rock-solid excuse - _I wanted to talk to him, to iron things out between us, like proper brothers._

It doesn't matter that Sirius would never iron anything out with him; he just has to believe that Regulus would be fool enough to try. And, even though Sirius was always the smarter, stronger, better brother, he isn't. He knows exactly what to expect from Sirius, and he's clever enough to hide it.

Idly, Regulus wonders what his brother and his friends are discussing. He could - should - move closer and listen in, take a few notes, report back with his findings. But no one knew that Sirius would be here (honestly, he's probably just buying food or something else innocuous like that, but why the huddle? Why the secrecy?) and he doesn't have to tell them. Spying on his brother is easy, but he doesn't like it, not a bit.

But he can't shake the feeling that he's never going to see Sirius again after today. It's not entirely unfounded - he's made it painfully clear how suspicious Sirius is getting, how little he's saying at all anymore, how he's figuring it all out, and at any rate, it's getting harder to justify the things going on around him - but it's just a little too eerie, just a little too _cold_, like there's something sliding down his back, creeping into his skin, whispering in his ear to _drink this image in_ and _watch carefully_.

He shudders.

It's humid, he thinks. Humid and chilly and a little odd, and that's why he's feeling the way he is. That's sweat on his back and he didn't sleep last night, so that explains his odd train of thought. Simple. He glances behind him, into the just-lit candles of the bookshop. Clouds are rolling in, he sees - dark, thick, smoky blankets shrouding the highest buildings, narrowing the streets into claustrophobia, and people rush for the Leaky Cauldron or to finish their shopping, trying to beat the deluge home.

Sirius is still in his huddle, talking. Regulus is suddenly, strangely, hit with a feeling of disassociation, like _who is that guy, anyway? The shifty one with the black hair and dark eyes who's looking around like he's done something wrong? What's he doing there, standing in front of the shop, watching candles and clouds?_

He tries to shake it off, and after a moment, he's back in his own head, feeling a little alien, a little empty. That sort of thing has been happening a lot lately, mostly in meetings and on missions, when he stops and sees_ himself _- not Regulus Arcturus Black, but a shadow wearing a Death Eater mask, hesitating - and it's getting worse.

It's getting noticeable.

And if there's one thing he's learned in his tenure with the Dark Lord, it's that getting noticed isn't such a good thing.

He's been finding himself _left out _of things lately, and he's starting to think he's coming under suspicion. It's his fault at the same time it isn't his fault - insomnia has taken hold, to the point where he only sort of dozes sometimes, and he thinks that's to blame for his out-of-body experiences, but he's still the one who's been thinking these traitorous thoughts, these _maybe Sirius wasn't so wrong after all _sort of thoughts, the ones that get people killed in the Death Eaters. But he's not going crazy, inasmuch as he's waking up. And maybe his insomnia is taking its toll and maybe his disassociative problems are beginning to frighten him and those around him, but -

But he's thinking the right things, the right way, the right moves ahead on the board - only he's just a pawn, and can't actually play the game. He's thinking the right things, but the right things will get him killed.

Sirius looks around and makes eye contact. Neither of them move for a long second, and time slows down.

Lightning forks across the sky. A bell on a shop door rings. A little girl trips, a young boy eats an ice cream, a mother runs down the street, calling for her child. The candlelight behind him flickers, the air has that suffocating before-storm stillness, and all of a sudden, Regulus thinks that maybe it's not Sirius who's never going to be here again.

Then the spell is broken - Sirius turns to his friends and they leave, none of them giving him a second glance. He's been found out. Sirius had guessed he was being followed, now he knows, and worse, he knows by whom. It's all over. Even if he goes back now, he'd be through with this mission. Perhaps the Dark Lord will give him another assignment, but not before soundly _teaching_ him not to make these sorts of mistakes again. Perhaps. If he returns.

And that's the point, isn't it? _If_ he returns.

The clouds break, and several people shriek and begin to run down the streets, into shops, _away._ For a moment, Regulus stands still in the rain, laughing to himself, before walking all the way home. He doesn't look back, just dissolves into the gray.

And when Kreacher greets him at the door, wet and hysterical and half-insane, he doesn't think about anything except how strange the world looks all of a sudden, like he's seeing it through a tunnel or a haze, and about how Sirius used to tell him stories of mythological heroes slaying beasts and of great Kings ruling their lands, and how little he resembles them. And maybe Perseus never lived to make mistakes and maybe Avalon is only a dream, but he'd kind of like to see it someday, to listen to those stories again. At least.

Maybe he's not Theseus or Mordred. Maybe he's just a kid with a problem he can't hide; just a boy with an ace of spades up his sleeve, a child who has all the cards but doesn't know the rules. And maybe he's not Sirius Black or James Potter or even Lucius Malfoy or Lord Voldemort, but he's -

He's not King Arthur. He's not Sir Lancelot or Odin or Hercules, but -

The only problem is, he thinks, listening to Kreacher's anguished story, he's not even sure he's still Regulus Black. He's not even entirely sure he exists at all anymore, just a ghost with a pretty face and hollow eyes. And ghosts have nothing at all to lose, do they?

"Listen to me, Kreacher," He whispers hoarsely, kneeling down, door open to howling wind behind him, "I want you to do exactly as I say..."  
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(A/N: And the award for "Most Gruesome Death Of The Entire Series, Nay, The Entire Literary World, Except Perhaps That Guy From Haunted Who Got Boiled Alive" goes to... Regulus Black! Being torn apart by Zombies! _Ouch._ But what a way to go! My man, you've got _guts_. Even though they got eaten by dead people. Review if you like.)


End file.
